


Your Love is Gonna Drown

by Thisistheend



Category: Horizon: Zero Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: .... and I made her touch-starved, Aloy and Talanah are a Death Cab couple change my mind, Aloy talk about your FEELINGS you dumbass, Also I'm taking creative liberties with Talanah's backstory but hear me out okay, Also if the game won't recognize the crazy similarities between these two then I'll do it myself, Also it's maximum angst in the beginning and it gets fluffier from there, Also we're not going to worry about why I keep giving characters traumatizing flashbacks, Am I going to use my oddly specific bison knowledge for this fic? Maybe, Angst, But I'm oblivious so this might be awful, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, I feel like these two would flirt a lot, I'll write it my damn self, No Plot Only Vibes, The ending was wonderful but could have been gayer, The fact that we didn't get Talanah in the victory cutscene is a CRIME, We're not going to worry about the fact that I have a tendency to mix rooftops and love confessions, Whoops I gave Aloy PTSD, You know its gay when they have to meet in secret, in this essay I will
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-13 08:40:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29648679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thisistheend/pseuds/Thisistheend
Summary: There's a certain, raw honesty that comes with facing the end of the world. My take on how the Talanah and Aloy's relationship should have progressed post-Hunter's Lodge questline.
Relationships: Aloy/Talanah Khane Padish
Comments: 9
Kudos: 6





	Your Love is Gonna Drown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Canyons** by JOESEPH  
>  **Marching Bands of Manhattan** by Death Cab for Cutie when the tone shifts, when you know you KNOW

“Do we need to go through the plan again?”

Talanah’s voice is quiet, yet audible enough for Aloy to hear. The Sunhawk approaches her in the grass, crouching close by. The Spearshafts stand tall on the horizon, but the shadows they cast can’t quite reach their hiding place. Though the foliage covers them well, it provides little shade. Humidity soaks into Aloy’s back, unbridled and unending. She wipes the sweat from her brow, but the stickiness on her skin remains. 

“I think we’re ready,” Aloy decides.

Talanah bumps shoulders with her in agreement; it wakes Aloy from the drowsiness of the beating sun. There’s something about Talanah’s movements that catch her eye, the way she navigates her homeland with such ease. Heat emanates from the Sunhawk with the ferocity of an angry Bellowback, but it doesn’t bog her down. If anything, it energizes her. Talanah’s lips are parched, and fresh mud clings to her sandals, but there’s something satisfying about the color in her cheeks, further set by her wide grin. 

Aloy notices the extra time she takes to study her Hawk’s face. She would scoff at herself, if not for Talanah’s immediate presence. Instead, Aloy uses her Focus as a distraction. It picks up on the machines ahead, highlighting the weaknesses that Aloy practically has memorized. Her fingertips hover against the cold metal before she finally lets it go.

After a while, a mechanical huff dissipates into the air. It makes Talanah swallow hard, but the light in her eyes only amplifies. It sounds like the beasts are just over the ridge, but Aloy knows better. The bellows travel far across the ridgeline, where Aloy notices stray power cells that stick out of metal spines. A stray horn rises through the ferns, confirming the Focus’s signal. Even Talanah catches her breath at the machine’s next call, a hearty grunt in response. But the herd pays the hunters no mind. Aloy and Talanah are intruders in a foreign conversation, a mix of low rumbles and incomprehensible signals. Aloy can’t understand their message, but their metallic drones manage to still her soul. 

At least, that’s how she justifies the way her heart races. Talanah goes quiet, too—perhaps her mind wanders to the Sun, but Aloy can’t tell for sure. Though a regular Nora would hear All-Mother’s words in the distant calls, something else holds Aloy’s attention. She’s lost in the sounds themselves, mesmerized by the dull static of the tripwires set behind them. 

In the quiet, both women turn to each other. Talanah’s eyes brighten at the sound of each broken call. She waits eagerly, glancing between the red-haired huntress and the machines up ahead. There’s a tinge of energy that erupts in Aloy’s chest, barely noticeable in any other circumstance. 

No. No. Aloy suppresses the urge to curse to herself— she needs to focus. She takes a deep breath, letting her nerves pass on the exhale. 

“Let’s go,” Aloy says. She motions for Talanah to follow, careful with each step that she makes. They both make an effort to stay low; they roam like wild creatures, crawling on all fours. Talanah works her hands through the vines, letting them lead her from one outcropping to the next. Being Carja-raised, she pushes herself ahead without much effort. The ferns cover her well enough, shading the glint off her metal crown. Aloy, on the other hand, is stuck contending with the thorns. She never thought she’d miss the bitter cold, but the snow never weighed her down like the ever-present dampness in the air.

There’s another bump against Aloy’s shoulder, and a brush of Carja silk. She has to stop herself from flinching back. Talanah gives her Thrush an all-knowing smile. 

“You want to do the honors?” Talanah asks. Her voice is barely above a whisper. There’s a certain glint in her eye that comes with every hunt, a playful glee that catches all too well in the sunlight.

“Me?” Aloy wonders aloud. “What, you don’t want the big one for yourself?”

“Nah,” Talanah admits. She shrugs her shoulders. “I trust your aim.”

There’s clearly something that Talanah is omitting here, but Aloy doesn’t voice her concerns aloud. Instead, she rolls her eyes in a dramatic fashion, making them both suppress a laugh. The last thing they need to do is alert the whole jungle of their presence.  
“Okay, then,” Aloy says. She takes a step forward, ducking under the broad leaves. Slipping the bow off her back, Aloy knocks a few arrows into the drawstring. Though the distant bellows make her spine shudder, there’s something grounding about the way the fletching passes through her fingertips. If she can picture the muddy terrain as the Embrace’s first snowmelt rather than the litter of the forest floor, then she can push on with greater ease. Regardless of how Aloy tries to frame it, Talanah follows diligently behind. 

As they pass over the final ridge, they both halt at the sight below. Amongst the sunburnt crags, a great herd grazes. It has to be the most machines that Aloy has ever seen in one place—she counts over thirty Tramplers in all. Grass lays flat against the ground where their hooves once roamed, carving defined paths in the foliage. Some travel in pairs or triads to scour the edges of the valley. Their movements are calculated, their steps precise. Others are strangely still, almost left content by the songs of their brethren. Tropical birds flutter onto their backs, careful not to land too close to their power cells. 

The Spearshafts herd certainly lives up to its renown in the Hunter’s Lodge. Any Carja warrior can spin details of glory over a few drinks, but Aloy never expected their descriptions to be so fitting. Their calls are louder now, resonating deep into Aloy’s bones. With the nearest machine only a few yards away, there’s no going back now.

“Alright,” Talanah whispers beside her. “Three… two…”

Aloy pulls back the bowstring. Her muscles strain, but the familiarity of the draw puts her shoulders at ease. She sucks in a breath, aiming at the nearest Trampler’s underbelly.

A hand presses against the small of her back. The touch is fleeting, but it’s enough to send a shock through Aloy’s system. There’s a tingle in her spine, trailing up her shoulders and tensing her jaw. Her aim wavers, but then quickly finds its mark again. Talanah’s hand stays, guiding Aloy with the grace of a feather. The truth is, Aloy’s aim is an afterthought, a result of second nature. It’s not the surprise that bothers her, or even the fact that Talanah could have made Aloy miss her mark—it’s the way she finds herself sighing into the Aloy wonders if the sweltering sun will overtake her. 

Talanah shuffles closer. Her voice wanders to Aloy’s ear, only protected by the arrow nocked beside it.

“Bet you can’t outrun me,” Talanah whispers. 

“Huh?”

“ONE!” Talanah shouts. The bellowing falls short in an instant, followed by a bathing red light. Aloy reels back, loosening her bowstring in the flurry of the moment. She glances back, only to see Talanah racing back in the direction they came. She dodges stray boulders, hurtling herself through the undergrowth and towards the canyon beyond. Aloy only catches a glimpse of her sly grin before she turns away.

“Damn you—” 

Aloy pulls back on the bowstring one last time. She’s quick to find her mark again, just as a first of the machines set their sights on her. One well-placed arrow sends an explosion rocketing through the clearing. Fire erupts where the red beams lie, engulfing the herd for a split second. Aloy watches her prize fall, taking a tall alder on the way down. With the machine distracted by the flames, it’s her best chance to run. 

“Talanah!”  
Aloy sprints after the other huntress, not bothering to avoid the thorned bushes that catch against her skin. She gains ground quickly, but Talanah keeps a strong lead. The Sunhawk glances back, and her self-satisfied grin never fades. Her eyes, however, blow wide at the scene behind them. Aloy can feel the heat of the machines bite at her heels, followed by the rumble of a hundred trampling hooves. The growing roar of the herd thrusts Aloy forward, sending her catapulting towards Talanah’s side.

“Get back—” Aloy shouts between gasps of air. She stumbles on the rocks but keeps blazing a path forward. “CHEATER!”

Her last word echoes through the glade, alerting every machine for miles. Not that it matters now. But it does manage to pull a hearty laugh out of Talanah, and it’s enough to make a smile tug at Aloy’s lips. The foliage flicks by as both huntresses sprint hard; sheer pain rips through Aloy’s legs until it feels like she can fly. The wind whips hard through her braids, cooling her skin under the blazing sun. For a moment, she’s weightless, lost in the breeze of her own making. Low-hanging leaves shiver as they pass, one hunter after another. Each burst of adrenaline is a call home; Aloy savors the rush through her veins, the shallowness to her breath, the sound of her own heart pounding louder than the machines’ growing cries. 

But there’s another sound that drowns out the rest. Talanah’s laughter mixes so well with her own, Aloy realizes. They mimic the songbirds, leading a chorus under the beat of galloping beasts. The two of them are master hunters, but they giggle like girls; their youth threatens to burst out of their hardened shells. Talanah’s ponytail flicks back and forth, accompanied by the occasional glance back; she goads Aloy to test her limit, despite the soreness overcoming her muscles. She’s running toward the girl ahead, charged by her racing chest. It’s probably how the machines would feel, if they could feel anything at all—run by a thousand sparks, a continuous static spilling from their cores. It bubbles through Aloy’s chest, only released by the sound of her own laughter caught between shallow breaths. Her voice disrupts the songbirds, amplifying the calls between Thrush and Hawk, untethered by the hot-white metal on their backs.

A loud bang pulls Aloy out of her blissful high. Flame erupts to her right—sure enough, one of the Tramplers veered into a tripwire. Talanah cheers at the sound, followed by another explosion far behind them. Aloy can pinpoint the traps from here, gray wires funneling into a central point. Beyond them is a sheer drop, a red-stained canyon with a roaring river below. Both women catapult towards it without room for pause. Everything is well-timed—they both hurl their spears across the canyon first, which embed themselves in the soil directly on the other side.

Talanah jumps first. She uses her running start to hurtle forward, and she disappears under the canyon wall. Aloy scans the rock face for several handholds, picking one right before she leaps. Sheer glee takes her with the wind—there’s an unending pound in her ears and that strain in her muscles, but not much else. Amidst her laugher, Aloy reaches out for the nearest crack in the rock. Her arms stretch wide, making up for the space that gravity fails to close. 

And she misses. Her fingers grace the wet shale but never grasp anything solid. She watches it happen, watches her hands flail for _something_. She brushes against the rock once, twice. Her fingertips fall numb before she has a chance to think. Then the air steals her away, pulling her toward the river bottom. 

Oh. 

That’s it, then. 

Aloy drops fast, but time gladly stretches out for her. The canyon wall shifts into a blur despite the way Aloy begs for it to solidify. Her stomach drops with the shrinking sky, made worse by the heat that licks her back. The remnants of the Trampler herd accompany her in a shower of metal, shielding her view of the sun. Aloy gets swept up in the static, only amplified by the machine’s jarring cries. Those dying pleas are the only she has left to hold on to.

Maybe something’s wrong. Maybe she wasn’t meant to make it this far.

A soft spray of water stings of sudden cold. It’s not quite felt, but it magnifies the numbness. Aloy’s world turns white with the extension of time. Everything is too bright, too blinding, too difficult to comprehend. Aloy can only hope that her death will come quickly and that Talanah won’t have to witness it.

Yet, Aloy half-expects one last thing. An ear-splitting bang, an explosion of some kind. A sudden rush of heat accompanied by a scream that she wishes she never heard. The memory rings so clear in her mind, becoming more defined than the rock walls or the rushing river below. Aloy can’t even scream back—her throat is too heavily scarred, touched by one too many hands.

One voice that echoes in her mind, stronger than the broken machines or the roaring waves below. Its gruff intonations tremble in Aloy’s ears, blotting out the pulse of her own heart.

_Turn your face to the Sun, child._

Then, Aloy feels something. It’s a touch as light as a feather, gracing her fingertips. Its grasp is gentle, but it rips Aloy from gravity’s jaws. She dangles by her arm, trapped in mid-air. The cool rock wall bumps against her skin, and Aloy embraces it gladly. She grasps every foothold that she can spot, grateful for every inch of shale available to her. Her lungs start to convulse, forcing out desperate gasps for air. That phantom heat starts to fade, only replaced by the dull pounding in her ears.

“Aloy!”

A strong voice rings through the canyon, funneled through the river bottoms. It’s just enough to make Aloy’s mind go quiet. When Aloy looks up, Talanah is there. She’s just above her on the ledge, clinging to the canyon wall. Aloy’s first sense of contact is the firm grasp of Talanah’s hand. The Sunhawk can barely hold them both; her nails dig into the grass roots on the ledge. Their interlocked fingers loosen ever so slightly, but it sends Aloy’s heart into a frenzy. The fear must be evident in her face, if not the way her limbs lock against the rock face. Talanah’s gaze gets blown wide, caught in a particular red-headed girl and the machine-grave beneath her.

Aloy’s chest stirs. There’s a kind set of brown eyes, but they don’t belong to the girl in front of her. She only bears witness to the man that lingers in the corner of her eye. For once, her body fails to prevent the worst, and he must be the one to pay the price. He doubles over from the rasp of a broken lung. Grounding himself one last time, he watches his blood stain the white snow. His killer is nowhere to be seen, only memorable by the smoke on the ever-shortening fuse. And Aloy can’t reach for the explosives, can’t reach for stable ground, can’t reach for Rost. She can only tumble into the solace of free-fall. 

“Aloy?” 

Talanah’s voice is softer this time, but her gaze remains the same. Aloy’s arm swings under her hold. Talanah’s shoulders start to shudder under her weight, and there’s a tinge of urgency in her voice. Aloy finds the ledge again, her boots pushing deep into the wet rock. She can’t think about the past, not now. Not with this girl looking back at her. Aloy sucks in her breath, and a certain jittery weight shifts off her chest.

Just a little farther. She has to make sure they survive.

Aloy’s throat is still too tight to speak, but Talanah waits for a response. So Aloy simply nods. There’s another pull on her arm, heartier this time, and Aloy is thrust back into the terror of the open air. Her fingers fly out as she lets go of Talanah’s hand. Sure enough, Aloy finds her first foothold. She digs her nails into the sliver in the canyon wall. Then there’s another, just within range. Muscle memory kicks in, and Aloy jumps from one crevice to the next. She starts to feel her toes as they curl into her boots. Heaving herself up is even easier with Talanah up above, offering a final hand to bring her back to solid ground. 

As she feels the brush of soft grass, Aloy sighs. She crawls away from the cliff’s edge to reach for the ferns; she doesn’t bother to retrieve her spear. She stays on her hands and knees, heaving in the space between each breath. Blood still roars in her ears and blots out the birdsong, but the world feels quiet despite it all—there’s just her heartbeat to follow, ticking in her head. Aloy finds strange comfort in the sound.

At least, until she glances down at the canyon bottom. A heap of metal pollutes the river, making itself known with a steady rise of steam. Static jumps from one carcass to the other, igniting every dent and crack made by her own hand. Beasts are piled atop each other and twisted in every which way. Aloy is the only one to bear witness to the massacre. 

It starts as a lump in her throat. Cold metal pierces into her, carving deep into her throat. Aloy touches her neck, just under her jaw. Then, a flash. Blinding pain burns the scar left behind, threatening the retch up an oncoming sob. Something foul in her throat makes her sputter, but she can’t quite pinpoint the taste. The tears bleed fast, staining the freckles on her cheeks. Aloy staggers away from the cliff’s edge, desperate to crawl as far away as she can. She falls to her knees, scraping her elbows against the rocks. But she manages to stay quiet, holding back her pain all the while.

“Damn, you scared me there for a second,” Talanah’s voice drifts into the open air. The Hawk pulls her spear out of the ground—the slip of metal rings in Aloy’s ears. Her deep laughter grows louder with her approaching footsteps. It’s jarring despite its smooth familiarity, and it makes Aloy grit her teeth. She wipes away the tears quickly. The weight of the woman behind her is far too much to bear, so she looks to the ground for some semblance of calm.

Another convulsion comes, heavier this time. Aloy tries to swallow it down so that Talanah can’t see hear, but it rips through her throat regardless. Instead, she bends to the undergrowth’s will. A meager whimper contorts into an ugly sob, making her choke on the salty tang in her lips. The weight on her chest is imminent and constrictive, pulling her ever closer to the forest floor.

“Just ‘cause I made you a Thrush doesn’t mean you can _fly_ — Aloy?”

Talanah sandals fall silent; her sharp intake of breath is impossible to ignore. The sudden quiet relieves some of Aloy’s oncoming headache, but it still isn’t enough. Ferns cradle her shivering form; her body locks up in an attempt to blend in. It’s her last line of defense against the Sunhawk’s watchful gaze. The greatest tension is in her hands, gripping fistfuls of grass. As she pulls the blades back, they threaten to rip apart from their roots. Aloy looks to the sky, hoping the Sun will dry her tears. Instead, her tears stay, and she forces herself to look Talanah in the eye.

The shock on the Sunhawk’s face is plain to see. It’s the same face reflected in the Nora braves that watched Aloy walk out of Mother’s Heart, that witnessed Aloy snap at the titles they dared give her. There’s something irrevocably different now. She must recognize Aloy’s bated breath, and the way she shivers under the noonday sun. Now, Aloy is nothing more than a wayward boar with an arrow in its back; something once regal and now nothing more than pitiful, something that masters evasion in the inevitability of what happens next. Something born to lose; something doomed to die. And the Hawk sees it all; she’s been well-trained to end matters such as this. It would be easy for her to latch onto the shame that leaks from Aloy’s eyes; it would be even simpler to continue on as if nothing happened, discuss their gameplan on harvesting enough Hearts and Lenses to make a fortune. 

But Talanah chooses to hesitate. There’s a life to her eyes that Aloy does not expect. Her Hawk mouths something; it’s as if her Thrush has stolen her voice away. For Aloy, every exposed inch of skin burns against the sun’s heat. She half-expects another cold sting to her neck where no weapon lays, but she only feels the weight of her own fingertips. 

When Talanah finally speaks, it’s ear-splitting—the jungle bows to her voice as it echoes down the canyon beneath them.

“By the Sun, are you alright?”

Talanah’s spear clatters to the ground. The Sunhawk falls into the ferns faster than Aloy can blink. Warmth braces Aloy’s skin as her Hawk reaches for her quaking shoulders. The flagrant heat is enough to send Aloy reeling back. She sputters something incomprehensible, retreating into the comfort of the vines. The palms of her hands prick dense thorns, but she gladly lets herself bleed. The shadows of the leaves better mask her face. She has to catch up to her lungs with shallow breaths, finding a way to pry apart the constriction in her heart. 

“It’s fine,” Aloy says. She shifts back, grabbing fistfuls of soil. “Just give me a minute. I can fix this.”

“Aloy—”

“Really, it’s fine,” she insists. She rubs her neck with her free hand. Her gaze wanders back to the earth. “I-I’ve figured this out on my own before.”

“I know,” Talanah says. Her voice goes quiet, almost caught by the breeze. “But you don’t have to.”

Aloy looks up. Talanah faces her without remorse, resting on her knees. She’s a pillar in regal Carja silks, decorated by many kills. She’s proud to wear her metal feathers, and there’s no doubt that she earned every scratch and dent in their designs. But she regards Aloy with that same reverence, despite the way the Nora girl wears her secondhand silks in an attempt to fit in. No, that’s not where Talanah’s attention lies. Her gaze gets caught in Aloy’s braids, trailing down to the freckles on her face, and finally, the tooth-like amulet that rests against her chest. 

Aloy flicks her hand away from her neck, letting it drop down to clasp Rost’s amulet. Talanah’s gaze lingers on the scar, swollen and angry. But the Sunhawk doesn’t push her; she simply sits with Aloy in the undergrowth. Broad-leafed ferns caress their backs, blanketing them both in partial shadow. 

“Look, I don’t know what it is that you’re suffering through,” Talanah admits. “But there are more people who understand than you think. Especially after the Red Raids.”

“Hunters from the Lodge?”

“Yeah,” Talanah says. The slightest smile tugs at her lips. “I think they’re some of our bravest.” 

Aloy lets out a shaky sigh. Her breath bleeds into the space between them, amplifying the tension in the air. The mighty Nora huntress caves into herself, holding her knees up to hide her broken chest. Talanah leans closer, resting her hands in her lap. 

“You don’t need to be embarrassed,” Talanah reminds her. Her voice is gentle, made soothing with her deep intonations. But Aloy shakes her head, peeking over her knees to look at the Carja huntress.

“I’m not,” Aloy insists. “I just…” The right words are so hard to find under the weight of the sky, cloudless and glaring with unyielding daylight.

“We were having fun,” Aloy finally says. “This isn’t fair for you.”

“Pffft. That’s what you’re worried about?” Talanah teases. She shifts in her seat to sit cross-legged, staining her armor with mud. Aloy finds herself doing the same. Their knees bump against each other, then settle just out of reach. Jungle life floods back as the throb in Aloy’s skull begins to fade. Birdsong fills the silence, broken only the occasional call of a distant machine. The world comes into focus, little by little. Talanah is silhouetted by the mountains of Aloy’s homeland, adding jagged white features to the cloudless sky. 

Talanah leans into Aloy’s space. It makes Aloy flinch, but she doesn’t shrink away this time. Instead, she watches Talanah extend her hands to her. Leather snakes around her arm, adorned by metal and silk. But lines on her palms are plain to see, as thick and deep as river-carved canyons. Her fingers twitch ever so slightly but seem stable in the face of Aloy’s constant shivering.

“C’mon,” Talanah says. She glances at the space between them, leaning forward in an offer to close it. “A Hawk always looks after her Thrush, no?”

Of course, Aloy hesitates. Her throat tightens on cue. She reaches for it, then stops herself. Her fingers shiver in the open air, sending tremors through her arms and into her caged lungs. Talanah’s eyes widen as Aloy pulls back ever so slightly. Another wave of panic crests at the edge of Aloy’s thoughts, threatening to spill into the open again. Aloy holds back with a heavy sigh, but she can only last for so long. Her hands linger just out of reach.

This reminds her of the time that she and Rost last spoke. His eyes filled with remorse as Aloy reached out; neither of them had the strength to close the gap. Her hand clasped his amulet tight instead. They had both taught each other well—maybe an embrace wasn’t necessary between them. Maybe Rost’s sentimentality could be enough. Aloy’s words died on her lips as he walked away, lost to the raging drum of Mother’s Heart. She waited, not because she expected to see him again, but because she expected the world to offer her another chance. The pain of the moment would help them both survive. Somehow.

Now? Aloy knows better. Out in the wilds, there is nothing trustworthy about the concept of safety. And Talanah knows this too—that, Aloy is sure of. Countless lives touched Talanah before they were lost; she holds them close in the way she carries herself. Every twitch is thoughtful, and every glance is intentional. She recognizes the brevity of this moment; the precise way the leaves shift as a new wind breaks, the way the sun bathes against her skin. She breathes deeply because she has to, because she knows that her time isn’t guaranteed.

But Talanah chooses to sit with Aloy, chooses to spend her breaths here. She watches Aloy’s chest shudder and sigh; she bears witness to her grief. Aloy realizes that it’s not out of pity, despite what the Nora may have taught her—it’s out of comfort, the rarest of commodities. She chooses to offer safety where none can be found. 

So, Aloy takes up Talanah’s offer. Her chest tightens upon the first touch. Their fingers interlock with enough ease to make Aloy falter. Talanah’s hands are calloused, yet oddly soothing. As Talanah holds up their hands for both women to see, Aloy notices their little scars. Both huntresses bear them in the same places, wrapped around their index and middle fingers. Aloy recognizes an arrow incorrectly knocked, then the misfire of a drawstring—a classic child’s blunder. Aloy can remember when she got hers, practicing a wooden Grazer dummy that Rost crafted for her. There’s a glint of recognition in Talanah’s eyes as her attention settles on their matching marks. The Sunhawk finds her own memory, one that Aloy can never see, but deeply knows. Talanah extends her fingers, and Aloy mimics her movement. As their hands press together, their scars align and snuggle close. 

Aloy starts to choke up again, but she doesn’t hide it this time. Her breaths are hollow, one falling after another. She sputters something incomprehensible, and her world starts to blur. Her hands fall, resting tentatively on Talanah’s knees.

“Aloy…”

The Nora girl sucks in her breath at the sound of her name. Her voice is shaken down, caught on every snag in her throat. She looks down at her hands, studies those scars that she had all but forgotten about. Talanah’s hands settle on Aloy’s shoulders, holding her steady. Her touch bleeds through her sunburnt skin, soothing her more than the shade of the jungle ever could.

“I… I’m sorry,” Aloy mumbles. She stumbles over her words, trying to find her breath again. Then, a guttural sob comes out. It’s completely unhindered, accompanied by a convulsion that seizes her body. It sounds like a dying call, her last bit of will spilling out into the grass. Her knees falter, and Talanah catches her quickly. The two become a tangle of silk and feathers, the Hawk instinctively encompassing her Thrush into the safety of her arms. 

“It’s okay,” Talanah whispers. She cradles her Thrush under the ferns, peeking over the leaves to check for signs of imminent danger. When she finds none, she lets out a soft sigh, resorting to gently caressing Aloy’s back. 

It feels so wrong, at first. The warmth is overwhelming, compressing her on all sides. Each touch sends a shiver up her spine, adding an ebb and flow to her oncoming panic. Despite the barrage of fear, Aloy finds herself nestling in without a second thought. Her sobs get muffled in the collar of Talanah’s shirt, and the royal Carja silk gets stained with tears. Talanah’s steady hands still against her back—her gentle warmth acts as a protective cocoon, yet gives Aloy the space she needs. It brings back old memories, nameless and vibrant. Talanah’s touch mimics the warmth of her childhood bed, or the heat of flying embers mixed with the smell of fresh-cooked game. Even the evening drums of Mother’s Heart echoes this warmth, somehow. Aloy’s tears start to dry, but she is left shaking off the aftershocks. Talanah holds her still, rocking her softly. Even as Aloy falls quiet, she never motions to pull away.

As Aloy’s breathing slows, a new sound breaks through the tension in the air. It’s not her Focus—it’s far too deep for that. No, it comes from Talanah, rumbling softly in her throat. Aloy recognizes the tune after a few notes. It’s an old Carja song, one of the ones sung by passing Sun-Priests. But Talanah speaks no names; she hums to the tune instead, blending her praises into a singular sound. It sounds more like a lullaby, this way. 

Aloy falls silent so that she can listen. Her head cradles deep against her Hawk’s throat, lost in its steady reverberations. She’s too tired to join along, though she wouldn’t dare disturb the melody. Fatigue takes her quick, and she fights her heavy eyelids. But Talanah’s song is easy to focus on, and even thoughts of the Proving ease from her mind. Even the birds add their own vocals, venturing back into the canyon as the dust settles.

Aloy smiles into Talanah’s frame where nobody can see. She sways to her Hawk’s voice, nuzzled close to hear the beat of her heart. There’s comfort in the sound, and Aloy can’t get enough of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That last song just feels so Aloy to me and I don't know why. So yeah, here we are, had to rant about it, hope ya liked it!


End file.
